Unjealous admiration of our fellow Americans who can do things we can only dream of is heartwarming and unifying. We end up loving them even though we don’t know them (we do the same with politicians, but I digress). Jerseys of all-stars are purchased; posters appear on our children’s bedroom walls. We internalize our affiliation with the achievements of our favorite teams and players. “I believe that we will win!” We are part of the team. Don’t wash the lucky jersey! Our cheers and jeers through the television matter, we tell ourselves. The coaching advice we hurl from bleachers is impactful. It must be heard and precisely followed.
Perhaps there is a reason sports and politics so often collide. Both have become more tribal than our religion or the competing companies where we work. After all, aren’t we all more likely to switch jobs and work for our competitor than we are to ever become a Yankees fan? Are we surprised, then, that race and sports and politics often end up as featured ingredients in the gumbo of our spiciest national conversations?
Sports are a force for good in America. In 2006, I spent a semester taking classes at Florida State University Law School to accommodate jobs in the Florida Legislature and at the Republican Party of Florida. My boss was then state House speaker and sports superfan Marco Rubio. And, yes, we all knew Marco was a special political talent then, though we did have trouble finding him during one intense budget negotiation while the Miami Dolphins were on the draft clock.
One of my best friends this semester was FSU basketball’s starting wing, Jason Rich. Seeing sports through his eyes gave me perspective on life I appreciate to this day. Basketball got Jason paid and laid. He was the best player on an ACC team—what would you expect? Mostly, though, it got him out and up. Sports was his opportunity and my friend seized it.
Jason and I had been asked to join a diverse group of student leaders at FSU. We met every Monday night at the law firm of now-famed civil rights attorney Ben Crump, one of the group’s founders during his student tenure. Ben was always generous to mentor and encourage his fellow Seminoles. Ben Crump would become the third financial contributor to my campaign for state representative in 2010. “We don’t agree on much, Matt. But we love FSU—and I’m counting on you to be a leader for all people, not just those who agree with you,” he said as he wrote out two thousand dollars in donations.
You always remember those who were with you at the beginning. As I write, Ben and his partner Daryl Parks continue to productively discuss proposals to improve policing with me. I’m glad they do. It makes me better to listen, even when I don’t agree.
Jason Rich and I studied leadership together, prayed together, ate and drank together, smoked together, and chased women together. He lent me his couch when I struck out at the nightclubs (not a rare occurrence). I memorized the names of his eight siblings over a weekend with friends at my family home in Seaside, Florida. Through all the fun, I’ve never observed a more driven human. Excellence in athletics comes from intense personal sacrifice. Perhaps we mythologize athletes so much because they can do so much that the rest of us can’t.
Jason and I grew up fifty miles and a world apart. I was in lily-white Niceville, Jason in a mostly nonwhite area on the outskirts of Pensacola; both are in my current congressional district. Jason always knew he was going to excel in basketball—that was the easy part for him. Like fellow Pensacola Seminole guard Ralph Mims, he was ultimately plucked out of Northwest Florida and enrolled in a prestigious prep school for future professional athletes.
Harder for my buddy was thinking about life for his siblings—how, without sports, he’d be hustling on the street. It was a sort of survivor’s guilt that drove Jason to lead in other aspects of his life. While he had a few too many knee surgeries to make it in the NBA beyond off-season scrimmages, Jason made money deploying his craft in Europe and across the world. He still calls from Rome, Athens, and Switzerland to discuss investment ideas—always with the goal of benefiting his family in Pensacola.
Many professional athletes, like Jason, are black. They have a perspective on black life in America that many they interact with don’t—including me. They shouldn’t get siloed as “athletes” that have somehow surrendered their right to social and political activism.
More people should be engaged in our politics, not less. I don’t have a right to tell athletes to stay out of politics any more than they have a right to shut down obsessive sports fan internet message boards. They have a far greater right to be in “my lane” than I do theirs. That doesn’t mean I have to agree with their political views any more than they indulge my perspective on the absurdity of the sacrifice bunt. Why give up a precious out?!
Kneeling during the national anthem is an overgeneralized indictment of America. I won’t support any athlete or sports league that participates. The un-woke version of Drew Brees was right—it is “disrespectful” to those who have loved this country enough to die for her. America is the greatest nation that has ever existed. Just ask everyone trying to break in. Sure, we’ve made horrible mistakes. All nations do. Our founders recognized we would always strive to be a more perfect union, and we still must. I’m talking about improving policing, specifically.
Refusing to stand for a great nation is not a sign of strength, but of naivete over the blessing that comes with being born an American of any race, background, sexual orientation, gender, or creed. Americans are the peers of kings—we should treat ourselves and one another with respect.
Sans overgeneralizing that America is a horrid, racist
